Bare-Assed Baywatch : Wank Wednesday

It's storytime once again. Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #buoy. For more information on this writing challenge, and to find the other stories, check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

Bare-Assed Baywatch

"She can give me mouth-to-pussy resuscitation any time she wants," purred Sandy as she looked up at the tanned and busty lifeguard who was sitting at the top of a watch tower a few metres behind us wearing nothing but a bright red bathing cap and scanning the sea with a large pair of binoculars.

"Damn, did you have to say that," I complained.

We were at the nude beach, sunning ourselves beneath the lazily circling gulls, the sea gently caressing the sand in front of us and the wind softly teasing our pubes.

I'd had to learn a special kind of mental discipline for occasions like this. I'd had to learn to block all thoughts of sex from my mind, lest the sight of swinging boobs and wiggling bums and cute little pussies, some bare as a bald man's head and others as hairy as hamsters, cause my wee willie winky to transform into Bonerman. Sharks aren't the only kind of white pointers that strike panic into the hearts of nude beach patrons.

Looking over at Sandy, pushing back her long blonde hair, and grinning a grin that was the universal sign language for "Please fuck me" as she pointed down at the yellow cornsilk that surrounded her pink Percy-gobbler, there was no way the levee was not going to break, flooding my mind with images of fucking and sucking, bum-spanking and boob-squeezing, and causing my cock to swell and stiffen like an inflating balloon animal.

"Meat missile in the launching position," giggled Sandy when she had finished ogling the lifeguard and turned back to me. She gently placed her finger on the head of my cock and pushed it down. When she let go it sprang back to attention and quivered like a tuning fork.

"I'll be in trouble if anyone sees it," I told her. "I better get into the water and cool off."

"I'll join you," she replied.

As I ran down toward the water, with my cock swinging back and forth stiffly like a conductor's baton, a slim young redhead with firm breasts was rising from the water and coming in to the shore. Droplets of water ran down over her pink nipples, stiff from the cool water, over her firm belly with its cute little button, and ran in a river from the fiery forest of pubes that sprang from between her lithe and lean thighs. One look at me advancing upon her with my generative organ rampant and she screamed and ran off down the beach. I tried to tell her I was sorry as I watched her soft pink bottom jiggle away from me, but the sight was just not helping and what came out of my mouth was not intelligible.

"Scaring young women," Sandy scolded as she ran up beside me. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Me!?!" I cried. "You started it. It was your dirty fantasies about the lifesaver chick which turned Mr. Floppy into Mr. Stiffy."

By now the water was about our waists and the offending appendage was no longer on public display. It wasn't getting any softer though. The invigorating coldness of the water against its heat just made it all the more achingly rigid. Sandy pushed her soft body up against me and began stroking my cock with her right hand.

"It's not safe to bring you to the nude beach," she giggled. "You're too much of a perve."

"It's just not fair," I pointed out. "I'm sure you popped a little girl boner over that lust-inspiring lifesaver lass, but you can get away with it, because it isn't obvious." I reached down below the water and, sure enough, discovered that Sandy's clit was stiff too. It was no surprise that her pussy was wet, but it was slippery with more than water.

"Sounds like you're suffering from pussy-envy," she laughed.

"Very funny, Miss Freud," I replied, "but what are we going to do. I suppose we could have a wank here in the water before going back to the beach."

"No," she decided, looking out to sea. "Let's swim out to that buoy and fuck. With that to hang onto, I'm sure we can manage it."

I'm not all that fit, and it was a long swim, but the prospect of sliding my cock into Sandy's sweet juicy little pussy in such a public place was enough to drive me on as I dog-paddled for all I was worth.

Eventually we arrived at the buoy, a little yellow metal tower with some kind of warning sign on it that was floating on a round raft-like base and bobbing in the tide. From the beach we would have been almost invisible. I was sure we would be able to copulate without drawing attention to ourselves.

"We'll have to do it doggy-style," Sandy explained, throwing her arms around the buoy and pulling herself up higher in the water. "Or should we call it 'porpoise style'?"

"Sure beats patting the porpoise," I laughed as I pulled myself up behind her, feeling my sensitive stiff prick slide over the wet skin of her bottom.

"Don't put it in the wrong hole," she warned.

"I thought you loved it that way," I replied.

"I do," she explained. "But my bottom-hole is very tight, and if you get your willy stuck up there we won't be able to swim back to shore and we'll drown."

"Good point," I agreed, grabbing hold of the legs of the tower and lifting myself so that my cock slid smoothly into Sandy's slippery pussy.

"Nothing like feeling the Good Ship Lollycock sailing into Pussy Harbour," she sighed.

I pulled myself up and down and she pushed her arse back against me. It wasn't the most comfortable way to fuck, but it did the job.

"I just hope some shark doesn't come along," I panted as my hot stiffness slid in and out of Sandy's twitching cunt and the cool water swirled around us.

"At least he won't be able to bite off your dick," giggled Sandy.

Lifting myself up out of the water over and over again with Sandy's delectable bottom slapping wetly against my belly was giving me quite a workout. I was puffing and panting before too long. But I was as horny as a brass band and our unusual location brought on a tremendous adrenaline rush. The water was churning up around us like a scene from Piranha.

It came as quite a shock when we suddenly found we were not alone.

"You really shouldn't come out this far," yelled the lady lifesaver who had been the unknowing catalyst for the whole adventure. "But don't worry, I can save you. Just don't panic."

The next thing I knew her nude body was pressed up against my back. She had lovely big soft boobs with stiff little nipples like pencil erasers.

"I'll have to take you one at a time," she explained, pulling me back off of Sandy.

"Anything you say, Miss," I responded, deciding that it was best to cooperate lest she discover what we were really doing.

She had one arm under my right arm and across my chest. Her other hand came around the other side and collided with my rampant cock.

"Oh, I see," she said sternly. "You were too far out and not waving or drowning, but fucking."

"We were just looking for a bit of privacy," explained Sandy.

"Well, it's not allowed," pointed out our would-be rescuer. "My name is Hester. I'm the only lifeguard on  duty at the moment, so you'd better hope nobody drowns in the next twenty minutes or it will be all your fault."

"We could swim back by ourselves," I suggested.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," she insisted. "You might escape."

"Escape?" queried Sandy.

"That's right," Hester told her. "You are both under citizen's arrest for lewd and lascivious behaviour in a public place."

"It's not all that public," Sandy pleaded. "The only reason you could see us was because you had binoculars."

"I'm not the only one with binoculars," Hester responded. "There is a whole bunch of guys who hide up on the cliffs. They have binoculars too."

"Sounds like maybe you should be arresting them," I said.

"Outside my jurisdiction," she explained. "I deal only with what happens in the water."

"Well, I suppose we have no option but to surrender," I sighed.

"I won't be able to lead you up the beach in this state, though," she mused, stroking my submarine stiffy.

"Maybe we could finish what we were doing and then you could arrest us," suggested Sandy, hopefully.

"I can't let you do anything illegal," Hester declared.

"I could have a wank," I told her.

"Still illegal," she pointed out. "There is only one course of action open to me. Much as it disgusts me, I'm going to have to masturbate you myself."

"I beg your pardon!?!" I exclaimed.

"Then neither of you will be engaging in sexual activity," she explained. "Your role will be passive not active. And it won't be sexual activity for me, as I will take no pleasure in it. I hope that you will try not to also. Remember this is nothing personal."

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm only human. Having a sexy girl like yourself wank me off is something I'm incapable of not enjoying."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she warned me. "I'm going to get you off, but I'm not going to let you off."

By now she had a firm grip on my cock and was sliding the loose skin up and down. I could still feel her  stiff-nippled boobs pressed into my back and every so often her wiry pubes brushed against my bum.

Sandy let go of the buoy and swam up behind Hester.

"Stop stroking my bottom!" Hester ordered. Sandy just giggled.

"I bet you didn't know you started all of this," Sandy informed her.

"What do you mean?" asked Hester as she continued to stroke my stiffness.

"Patrick only popped a boner because I told him I was fantasising about you giving the kiss of life to my cunt," she explained.

"I may have my hands full," Hester threatened. "But if you don't take your finger out of my bum, I'll fart on it."

"Please, Sandy," I pleaded. "Don't make things worse for us by sexually molesting an emergency worker."

"O.K. I'll stop playing with Hester's bottom," huffed Sandy. "But it's O.K. for you. At least your getting wanked off. I'm still horny."

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" I cried out as the jism spurted out of the end of my cock and floated to the surface like a Man-o-War jellyfish.

"You wait here," Hester told Sandy. "I'll be back shortly."

Then she got me to put my arms around her neck and we swam to shore with her bare bottom pressed tenderly against my belly.

My body felt heavy as we rose from the shallow water and trudged up the beach. Everyone was staring.

"I'm going to lock you in here," Hester told me, and she pushed me into a storage room in the lifesaving club. I sat down at the table in the middle of the room and waited.

About twenty minutes later the door opened and Hester came in leading Sandy.

"My replacement is here now," Hester explained. "So I'll be able to wait with you until the police arrive."

"Are you really going to hand us over to the police?" asked Sandy nervously.

"I might," Hester threatened. "If you aren't good to me."

"Good to you?" I wanted to know.

"Well, I have to do the right thing in public, and when I'm on duty," she explained. "Apart from wanking you off, Patrick. That was very naughty of me. And I did enjoy it. My cunt got all gooey feeling your stiff cock in my hand. And knowing that it was thinking about me that made it that way in the first place. That's true isn't it? You weren't just trying to get off lightly?... er... so to speak."

"No, that was true," smiled Sandy. "I saw you sitting up on your lifeguard tower all nude but for your cute little cap and I started fantasising that you would pull me out of the water and revive me by parting my thighs and applying your lips and tongue to my cream-dripping cunt." As she said this she reached down and began masturbating leisurely.

"Well," chuckled Hester, walking over to her. "CPR is the more conventional method for reviving people. I won a prize for my CPR."

"For your Cock Provoking Rear?" I suggested, coming up behind her and fondling the soft cheeks of her bottom.

"No, silly!" she smiled. "Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation. For getting people's hearts started."

"Your rear could get my heart started again," I told her. "I'm sure of it." And then I spanked that part of her anatomy with my newly stiffening cock.

"Well, I'm almost as good at pussy-sucking as I am at CPR," Hester bragged. "So I think I can make your dream come true. My only condition is that I get fucked while I do it."

"You drive a hard bargain," I said sternly as I pushed her head down between Sandy's spread legs and slid my cock deep into her cunt.

"She's not kidding," swooned Sandy. "I think my pussy's died and gone to heaven."

"I'm not there yet," I replied, as I watched Hester's soft brown butt-cheeks jiggle in time to my pussy-pounding, "but I can see it from here."

Some time later, Sandy started quivering and quaking and curling her toes. I slammed my cock one more time into Hester's pussy and coated it liberally with spunk as she squirted all over my cock and balls like she was pissing herself. Sandy cried out in ecstasy and fell off of her chair.

"You know it is a real hassle when people misbehave at the nude beach," Hester told us after we had regained our composure and were sitting at the table having a casual chat. "If you want to sunbathe nude, and you don't think you can trust yourselves, come over to my place and lay out in the backyard. If it's my day off that is."

"That's very kind of you," Sandy smiled.

"But I have to warn you," she explained seriously. "They don't call me Hester the Molester for nothing. Working here at the nude beach, seeing spunky guys with their cocks out and hot gals in the all-together makes me very frustrated. When I'm on my own I spend most of my time molesting myself. But if I have company, I don't take "no" for an answer. Cocks get sucked, pussies get licked, and faces get ridden by my salty wet cunt until they get bathed in a tsunami of twat-juice. But don't worry, I'm a lifesaver, I won't let you drown."

The End

Serge Protector (aka Mr. Electric) : Fuck Me Friday

Between Throbbing Thursday and Satiated Saturday comes Fuck Me Friday. How could it be otherwise? And, as you know, silly smut is the order of the day here at Aussiescribbler's. (Isn't it always?) To find out more about this raunchy writing challenge check out Aisling Weaver's site. She has declared that today's prompt should be #electric.

Serge Protector (aka Mr. Electric)

It was a perfectly normal day in Dullsville, Kansas. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. And Patsy Protector was hanging the laundry on the clothes-line. Her new born son Serge was giggling and dribbling in his bassinet on the lawn behind her. The date was October 16, 1952.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning shot out of the clear blue, cloudless sky and struck the bassinet. It was followed by an ear-splitting boom of thunder.

Patsy spun around and looked with horror into the bassinet. Serge was alive, but his eyes were glowing eerily, smoke was pouring out of his ears and his minimal hair was standing on end.

Later scientists would calculate that little Serge had absorbed enough electricity to kill a rhino. But it didn't kill him. It made him stronger.

If this were not a true story, I would have to provide some kind of believable explanation as to how this could have happened - how a lightning bolt could come out of a clear blue sky and how it could hit a tiny baby and not kill it. But this is a true story. So I don't have to bother. I know that you will accept it simply as one of those unsolved mysteries of the world, like why drive-through automatic teller machines have braille on the buttons.

Serge's true powers lay dormant through his childhood and adolescence, but, at the age of twenty he found that he could shoot electricity out of his cock. He became Mr. Electric, pal to the powerless and friend to those who forgot to pay the bill.

He's been a superhero now for nearly forty years, travelling from city to city. It doesn't pay to stay anywhere long. Once his secret is revealed the demands and prejudice can become crippling.

Today we join him as he strolls through New York City.

"Damn! The battery's flat!" a young woman curses, looking at her mobile phone.

"Allow me madame," Serge says, taking it from her hands. He then shoves it down his trousers and rubs it against his cock.

"What the fuck!" she cries, as he pulls it back out and hands it to her.

"I think you'll find it works fine now," he tells her with a smile.

She looks at her phone gingerly, holding it with two fingers. She holds it up to her nose and sniffs. Then she looks at Serge's retreating back, shakes her head, sighs, and dials her number.

"Hey, you're Mr. Electric, aren't you?" asks a heavily tattooed man wearing a dirty singlet and a balaclava.

"Why yes I am," Serge replies with a warm smile. "Did you want an autograph?"

"No, thanks," the guy replies. "I'm just wondering if you could help me jump start my car. The battery seems to be flat."

"Forgot your keys?" Serge queries, noticing that the man has pulled two wires out from the dashboard. "So easy to do. Sure I can help you." He looks at the fish symbol on the back window of the car. "You being a Christian, I'm sure you'll consider me a good Samaritan, hey?"

"A Christian?" the guy queries. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Yes." He looks up and down the street nervously.

Serge lifts the bonnet, unzips his pants, pulls out his cock and applies it to the engine which starts up right away.

"Thanks, mister!" the guy yells, leaping in and driving off.

Around the next corner, a crowd of people have gathered, looking up at something taking place on a high window ledge.

"I swear I'm going to jump!" declares a thin, blonde man teetering on the edge.

Serge enters the building and runs up the stairs two at a time.

"He failed another audition. It always makes him so depressed," explains a frantic woman, digging her fingers into her frizzy dark hair.

"'How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable / Seem to me all the uses of this world! / Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, / That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature / Possess it merely. That it should come to this...'" proclaims the thwarted thespian, seeming to address the gawping crowd.

"What a ham!" declares the attending policeman. "I wouldn't hire him to play billiards."

"You're no help," complains the woman, looking hopefully to Serge.

"I'll handle this," Serge tells her, pulling two lengths of wire out of his pocket. "Do you have a clean handkerchief?"

"No," she replies.

"Then take off your panties," he tells her. "They'll do."

"What are you going to do?" she asks, lifting her skirt and pulling down her panties.

"You'll see," he replies mysteriously, as he takes her panties and climbs out onto the ledge.

"I'm not afraid to jump," threatens the actor.

"I know you aren't," Serge reassures him. "Now put these panties in your mouth."

The actor is so bewildered that he does as he is told. Serge pulls out his cock, attaches the two lengths of wire to it and then applies the other end of each to one of the actor's temples. There is a sizzling sound and the actor begins to jerk around and foam at the mouth.

A moment later Serge leads the man back in through the window. He is wall-eyed and drooling.

"Electro-convulsive therapy," Serge explains. "Shock treatment. By tomorrow he'll be his old self. He won't even remember why he was depressed."

"I'm so glad," sighs the woman.

"He may also not remember his PINs, his computer passwords and some of his relatives," Serge admits.

As he exists the building and makes his way through the disappointed and now dispersing crowd, Serge's mobile rings.

"A freak black-out and the failure of all back-up generators has closed down Wall Street," a grim voice informs him. "Unless we can get the power back, the market could plummet. We need you!"

"I'll be right there!" Serge promises.

On the way he passes an unprepossessing street level apartment.

"Oh, fuck! Just as I was about to cum, my vibrator's batteries go flat!" cries a sexy female voice.

Serge looks towards Wall Street. He looks towards the apartment. He looks back towards Wall Street. He looks back towards the bedroom window of the apartment. He takes a deep sigh. He feels appropriately ashamed of himself. He turns his back on Wall Street. He leaps through the window of the apartment.

"Who the fuck are you!?!" cries a curvy redheaded housewife, quickly pulling up the bedcovers to hide her horny nude sweat-soaked body. "Home invasion! Home invasion! I've got a gun!"

"I'm Mr. Electric," says Serge. "Please do not distress yourself. I'm only here to recharge your vibrator's batteries."

"Mr. Electric!" she enthuses, her eyes lighting up like Christmas trees. "That's different." She throws off the covers and writhes shamelessly with her legs spread wide so that he can see how wet her pussy is.

"Why, madame," Serge blushes, as a silly grin spreads across his face. There is a loud ripping sound. His fly tears free from his trousers and sails across the room. With a resounding "Boing!" his cock pops out, glowing bright red and flashing like a neon sign.

"I don't want you to fix my vibrator," the woman tells him. "I want you to plug that electric cock of yours straight into my cunt socket!"

"That could be dangerous, Miss," Serge warns.

"Mrs., actually," she informs him.

"Well, Mrs. Actually," he goes on, "a full power poke with my penis has been known to lead to a month-long orgasm."

"Can that be fatal?" she asks.

"No, I don't think so," he admits. "But it would keep you away from work. And it is very difficult to get a doctor's certificate for orgasm-related incapacity."

"Well, that's fine then," she decides. "I'm a house-wife. I don't need a doctor's certificate to stay in bed. I'll just tell my husband I have female trouble."

"Where exactly is Mr. Actually?" he wants to know.

"Our name is Sutcliffe," she corrects him. "My name is Penelope. But you can call me Penny, if you like. Mr. Sutcliffe is a stock-broker. He's at work at the moment. We are perfectly safe to have a little fun."

Serge smiles, strips off the rest of his clothes and saunters over to the bed, his lit-up cock leading the way like Rudolph's nose.

"Whose a bad Penny?" he asks, laying his naked body over hers and kissing her deep red lips.

"You don't know the half of it," she smiles, when he lifts his lips away and gazes into her brown eyes. "I could tell you stories that would shock you."

"I don't need to tell any stories to shock you," he chuckles.

He lifts himself up onto his knees beside her and leans down so that the tip of his stiff and glowing cock comes within a centimetre of the erect nipple of her right breast. A spark like a tiny lightning bolt leaps across the divide.

"Oh, God!" Penny cries, and her pussy twitches in response to the flow of pleasure throughout her body.

Serge does the same to her other nipple with similar results.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" she begs as he kneels between her legs and aims his cock at her stiff and throbbing clit. "Fu-u-u-u-u-u-ck!" she cries as the lightning hits her nub.

"You see how powerful it is?" he asks her. "Are you sure you really want it all?"

"Plug yourself in! Plug yourself in!" she begs.

And so he slides his lightning-powered prick deep into her sopping wet pussy. When it is all the way in he can feel that his balls are lying in a puddle on the sheets. He has to hang on tight, because she immediately starts thrashing around like someone having ten other people's epileptic fits for them. She thrashes so much he is afraid she might bang her head on the end of the bed, so he rolls over and drags her with him so that she is sitting astride his pulsating penis. It's like some kind of rogering rodeo as she struggles to keep from flying off of him under the power of her own orgasmic flailing. To keep a better hold on her, he licks his finger and sticks it up her ass. But that just seems to make her wilder than ever.

Eventually he spurts his cum deep within her. It's extra slipperiness that is definitely not needed. She flies off of his cock and lands on the floor with her legs in the air. Her still quivering cunt squirts a fountain which rains down all over her as she lays there moaning.

Just at that moment the door opens.

"I'm home early, honey," announces a male voice. "Strangest thing. A blackout shut down the whole of the stock exchange, and apparently there is nothing they can do about it."

Serge is out the window like a shadow.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Mr. Sutcliffe asks of his wife.

"Y-y-y-y-yoga," she replies. "I'm stuck."

"My God, woman, you're pissing all over yourself," he adds, noticing the orgasmic fountain that his wife is still producing.

"A c-c-c-cork," suggests his wife, and he goes off to fetch one.

Meanwhile Serge wanders off into the afternoon meditating on the loneliness of the longer-lasting orgasm producer.

The End